Platonic Sort
by forty five
Summary: If this can even be considered together, in more than a platonic sort. // Zano. Yaoi. Cute one-shot. T to be safe.


I've always been the kind of person who doesn't like to admit they're weak, doesn't like to ask for help, always tries to do everything on their own and doesn't need anyone to rely on.

Hell, did that change when I met you.

You—Zack; Zackary Fair, SOLDIER 1st Class.

I was a simple Turk. A very poor one at that. You were at the top of the charts, you were elite, you were higher up than me. You were everything I wasn't; it was like the prince and the pauper. I can't help but ask myself why I let you get to me. Fire hair, green eyes, womanizer personality—I had it all when it came to women. But I wasn't as into them as much as I was into you. As much as I still am into you.

"Hey Reno," I jump at the sudden voice and my hands dash to smooth my hair, my shirt, my jacket. Self-consciously, I peek up through my lashes.

Rude's chuckling dryly—something new from him, all this emotion. He's usually the strong and silent type—and says, "Don't worry, I'm not the boss."

I pretend to relax. Really, I was so jumpy, so nervous, because I was waiting on you. Every night, at around eleven or so, you would show up at my window, cliché pebbles and all, and ask if you could come up and into my room. Of course, every time I said yes, and every time I asked why you didn't just get a key to my room and walk through doors like normal people. Every time you would chuckle, kiss my cheek or temple, and say something about not being normal or that it was more fun your way.

"So, Rude, you're here at," I glance at the alarm clock on my dresser, "eleven-fifteen, why, exactly, yo?"

"I was just wondering if you were up to goin' out tonight with me and some of the other Turks." Rude says.

I bite down on my lip. I haven't been out and about in a while, but I don't want to stand you up.

"I don't know," I murmur.

"Reno Tarshil—_the_ Reno Tarshil, doesn't want to go out to the hot new club and try to score some girls in celebration of our weekend off?" Rude asks in disbelief—whether it's real or fake, I can't tell.

I roll my eyes, "Don't be so dramatic, Rude. I'm just saying that I'm not really feeling up to going out. I haven't been getting much sleep lately. I'm stressed out, yo."

"What could you be stressed out from?" Rude asks. I sigh. I know exactly why I haven't been getting enough sleep lately, but Rude doesn't need to know that aspect of my personal life.

"I dunno, yo." I mutter, "But you guys go on without me. I'll be fine. I'm just gonna catch up on sleep. Maybe actually look some of those files the boss gives us."

Rude laughs, "Yeah, that'll put you right to sleep."

I smile and say, "Yeah, yeah, now you kids go out and have fun. Don't miss me, yo."

Rude nods and tells me not to wait up. Why would I? I'm already waiting up for you. I sit back on my bed and rub at my eyes. I pull off my jacket and toss it lazily in the direction of the small armchair in my apartment. I live on Shin-Ra grounds, as all the Turks and SOLDIERs do. I roll my sleeves up and fall back onto my bed. I listen to my alarm clock gently tick as the seconds go by and I breathe slowly every few seconds.

My eyes trace patterns on the ceiling. Splotches and strokes stand out to my sensitive eyes—they're most likely from the men who painted the tiles; they did a sloppy job, not even bothering to cover up a large splat of the beige ceiling paint onto the grey wallpaper on the walls. I sigh and run my fingers through my hair. Flicks of red still protrude into my vision and I comb my fingers out of my locks with a disinterested sigh. I roll onto my side and kick off my shoes, bringing my legs completely onto the mattress and pulling my knees to my chest. I let my eyes close and nuzzle into the soft comforter of my bed. It smells faintly of you, faintly of me. I stiff it again, trying to catch your sweet scent. It doesn't fulfill the feeling of you being here, arms around me and nose pressed into my hair, but the soft smell of mint, soap, and the sweet aroma of simply you is enough to make me satisfied, at least for a while. I pull my blankets over my curled form and breathe heavily. I furrow my brow and squeeze my eyes shut as a small tap sounds from somewhere around my window. I burrow deeper into my blankets and the tapping sound hits my ears again, again.

I keep hearing it until my tired brain makes a connection and I shoot up in bed and race over to the window. You're standing there, at the base of the building, with a goofy smile on your face.

"I thought you were rejecting me," you call.

"Never in a million years," I shout back. You smile wider, brighter, and climb up the side of the building—not even bothering with the fire escape—and into the small bedroom of my apartment.

"I saw Rude and Reeve outside. They said something about clubbing. Did you ditch them for me?" You muse, toying with the end of the off-white blinds hanging from the top of my windowsill.

"Don't flatter yourself, Fair." I say, tugging at the ends of my shirt to unwrinkle the fabric. You smirk and remove your fingers from the blinds. My eyes stay glued to the buttons sewn to my shirt as your heavy boots clunk against the floor as you walk, involuntarily in sync with my hammering heart.

"Seriously, Reno," you murmur, "you love going to clubs. Or shall I say love_d_ clubbing?"

I swallow hard and against my constricted, dry esophagus. I move my shoulders up gently, shrugging.

"You haven't been out and about since…" You trail off, "Well, since we got together. If this can even be considered together, in more than a platonic sort."

I lick my lips and say, "It is more than platonic, Zack."

"I guess it has to be." You smirk.

-

A/N: Second Zano one-shot. I really, really, _really _like writing Reno in Zano stories.

More so angsty Reno, because he's always so... happy?

Anyway, this can be somewhat dedicated to _JustPlainViolet_, because she wanted a happy Zano story :)

Definitely more to come in the near future, Zano and otherwise.


End file.
